Every couplet says "come" to someone: the heart to Ferhad's service, the ascetic to the guide, the king to the heart's throne. In the last, the voice that calls waits to be called.
A wind that roams evening and morning, the people of vision answering the world's self-adorning beauty, a heart mad for the pre-eternal Leyla and pearls from an unknown sea.
Mihrî Hatun's last ghazal of the divan, with the redif "ehli": love told in the language of faith, the infidel tress, the peach in the garden and the hafiz at the door.
Münîrî's ghazal of letter play, preserved only in the Vienna copy: eye, stature and lock spelling "ṣād", a mole like black pepper, and a heart filled with alif, lām, mīm, ṣād.
The polemical kaside "Tevârî-i Tevrât" on the Torah as a historical document: a critique of superstition, the theological debate on alteration, the six days, and baseless prejudice.
A ghazal opening with a murder inquiry: a vanished mouth as the suspect for hearts slain in the hair, a glow-worm heart, jealousy of a reflection, and a sea of mud made of tears.
Every joy of the heart is traced to a source, the Family of the Cloak, Ali who opened Khaybar, Naqshband's Bahâ and the Prophet, in a lineage told partly in chess terms.
Mihrî Hatun's only mustezad, eleven stanzas in the beloved's own voice with the refrain "Olsun begüm olsun": commands to the lover, the question of who speaks, and a poem of trade and fanâ.
Münîrî's ghazal that builds words from letters: "ṣad" (a hundred) written by eye and lock, "cesed" (body) joined from teeth and lock, and "Allāhü'ṣ-ṣamed" said with sincerity.
Cûdî's Arabic couplet added to a poem by al-Ma'arrî and his Turkish translation of the whole: "either reason but no religion, or religion but no reason", and the third class he added.
A lover who cannot reach the beloved's hand asks leave to kiss her foot: a nightingale caged with a crow, a decree of down, long hope outlasting cut tresses, and a first response to Necâtî.
Nothing comes of madrasa debate and the seeker arrives only through a guide: kiss his hand, take favour from the cypress-statured, and beware the arrows of a praying heart.
Mihrî Hatun's murabba with the refrain word "dürüst" turns a couplet by Nizâmî into its refrain; the halo around the moon extends to the mountains of Amasya.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-dan leziz": a lip sweeter than life, a heart that takes sorrow's poison for sherbet, an unripe promise no tears can ripen, and sighs.
Cûdî's poem on the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905: a history of the weapon from cave to cannon, the cost of war, a Russian admiral who meant to hook Korea, and a satire on hollow Muscovy.
A song-like ghazal in a short metre with the refrain "my little lord": the slave is yours, what is it to me; a threefold play on "al"; times do not stay like this; the poem as a pretext.
Stature, resurrection, station, dwelling and uprightness grow from one root; the Tuba tree bows its head in shame, the dove leaves the cypress, and blame turns into safety.
Mihrî Hatun's five-stanza murabba complaining of the faithlessness of the beautiful; every stanza ends with the refrain "Fiġân güzeller elinden ki bî-vefâlardur".
Münîrî's short ghazal rhyming in plain Turkish: a lock that listens to moles, an ascetic who takes a hint, an ear ringing with the rival's death, and a proverb at the close.
Cûdî's tahmis on a ghazal by Nâilî-i Cedîd: diamonds in an earring, the dawn of pre-eternity at an earlobe, a beloved above Leylâ and Züleyha, and the joyless cup drunk alone.
A list of losses with the refrain "I have parted from": a lip of honey and a rose-petal cheek, the cry "see what I have parted from", tears like the Pleiades, and an angel-natured human.
The strand of hair dances not to the east wind but to the heart's reed; a calamity named "heart" is given to man, and the last couplet makes martyrdom a legacy of Karbala.
Mihrî Hatun's six-stanza murabba describing the rope-dancer Haydar, whom she watched in the assembly of Şeh Süleymân at Eğribük; it survives only in the M manuscript.
Münîrî's ghazal: eyelash nails for the rider's horse, juicy fruits for the pupil, watchmen of tears, a mountain that could not endure the vision, and an arrow like a red candle.
Cûdî's nazire ghazal on Nâilî's ghazal: an earring like the quarter moon, Venus hanging from the crescent, a face that is a copy of the Qur'an on the shoulder's stand, and surging passions.
The poet states within the ghazal that rose and nightingale stand for beloved and lover. The rhymes come from the Arabic tafa‘‘ul pattern: taḫayyül, tefe’’ül, tevekkül, teġāfül.
Prohibition sharpens desire and Leyla's tress goes up for auction; in Amasya the poet walks the rose-walk of Karabağ in his mind and hopes for a fair name.
Mihrî Hatun's twenty-five-stanza murabba in praise of a city: the summer pasture of Lâdik, Elmalı Bahçe and the Yeni Hammâm, seen through the favour of Prince Ahmed.
Münîrî's ghazal in the "I said, he said" form: the wounding sick eye, a lip that may not exist, a love to be kept secret, and a beloved who finds the lover's life not worth a word.
Cûdî's ghazal on the kinds of beauty: a glance like a gazelle and a wink that startles, hair like night's curtain on the sun, a body like a bouquet, and the different beauties of Kays and Ferhad.
The band that plays at dawn at the sultan's gate becomes, at the beloved's door, the lover's morning cry. His sigh burns the stars like rue seed; the ground is Sultan Cem's ghazal.
Mihrî Hatun's eight-stanza murabba with the refrain "Āh elinden felegüñ", lamenting the cruelty of fate and the turning heavens, which make the rival laugh and the lover weep.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-ıdur": a cheek whose reflection is the sun, two doors into the heart, a body like a bubble on a sea of tears, and a poet who learns beauty by heart.
Cûdî's ghazal with the refrain "listens": poetry as interpreter of the pre-eternal covenant, a drunken angel, a call to prayer of unity for the divided, and love's chaste song heard by all.
A ghazal of a secret kept with the refrain "I will not say who she is": a body split like a comb, a lover burned like a candle, a shirt bloodied by the stick, a beloved with a ringed ear.
Mihrî Hatun's seven-stanza love murabba, a vow of fidelity to the beloved on the refrain "Allâh ḥaḳḳıçün begüm", woven from the images of the qibla and the infidel.
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